


Clowning Bareback

by Reavski



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Creampie, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Hitchhiking, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reavski/pseuds/Reavski
Summary: On a mission from her Master's Friend, Clownpiece is to infiltrate and acquire an amazing object from the Human Village. For this purpose, she hitch-hikes a stealthy ride into town on an old carter's lap.
Kudos: 6





	Clowning Bareback

“Well, now,” announced the carter, one hand flinging someway over the horse’s ears, “it looks t’ me what we have oncoming is a Kappathon which, my little miss, we define as a bloody great number o’ pits in the road. I propose, here-to-fore, that y’ contrive to hold on tight, missy. So as not to fall, ‘course. In this wise.”

On his lap, the Lampad known in circles (of Hell) as Clownpiece saw her wrist caught and her petite hand laid flat on the old man’s trousered knee. Quite seriously, she nodded her head, grasping the other knobbly knee by herself. The carter had warned they had been looking down at least a mile’s rough stretch, and Clownpiece hardly had braced herself when the cart’s squeaky wheels struck the first bump. A startled “Wah!” squeezed out of her throat, much to the human’s chortled glee. He wound an arm round her tiny waist… securing her, as it happened, atop a different bump altogether.

“Careful, careful, missy,” she felt his chest rumble against the back of her de-hatted head. “Hold tight, a’ight?”

The Lampad nipped her bottom lip. In deference to _Gensokyo_ ’s summer heat, she’d swapped out her favourite tights, opting instead for the similarly patterned thigh-highs that’d been her Master’s Friend’s gift and a pair of sheer, black panties with a cute heart on the front – which had been her Master’s. Now her barely covered groin was sending up rather unambiguous messages about her seat.

“… Thanks, mister,” she mumbled, nudging her butt back and forth for comfort.

The carter sniffed with false modesty. “Always glad to help a… _young lady_ out, yes ma’am. Can’t let one walk alone out ‘ere, can I now?”

A tiny, so far doused piece of Clownpiece’s ego flared hellish red. A lot of folks back home who’d attempted pampering a Lampad had ended up a _Kishin_ ’s overtime, but… right here and now, Clownpiece remembered where she was. On a rickety horse-cart bound for _Gensokyo_ ’s human settlement at the moment, sure – but, moreover, where Clownpiece was, was on a mission. A mission from her Master’s Friend which, given their concordance these days, could as good have come from Clownpiece’s Master herself. And, as another pothole joggled her butt on her carter’s lap, she clutched the thought to forestall it falling out.

 _Yes._ That morning she had sensed and raced to meet her Master and her Friend as they’d breached _Gensokyo_ and the Dream World’s boundary. If they’d descended together, then, the Lampad had reasoned, the day of _Gensokyo_ ’s hecatomb must have been at hand. She’d sighed like a shrine maiden and stamped like an Oni once she’d heard the Master’s Friend had merely meant to have a talk with the Moon’s whilom Sage, now resident of a healing place deep within _Gensokyo_ ’s bamboo forests. In a red-and-purple doublet with puffy sleeves, the Sage may have been a match for the Friend – whose own severe dress had gone out of Hell’s fashion at the same time as burning pitch – but boring beyond imagination otherwise. The occasional sardonic tone taken by Clownpiece’s Master in the course had betrayed she, too, had found the whole occasion tiresome; and, in a pointed fact, not half an hour into the meet, she had taken Clownpiece out to seek diversions elsewhere in the clinic while her Friend had conducted the talks by herself.

And one they had found: in the form of an out-of-the-way room where a man with a leg in a plaster cast had been idling the day away in a messy bed. With a grin and a jaunty air, Clownpiece’s Master had insinuated herself into the patient’s graces; within minutes, she’d had him confiding of the staff’s harsh bedside manner and tantalising dress code. One more, and she’d been skinning his hospital slacks down to his knees.

Clownpiece had looked on, almost as giddy as the broken-legged man himself, how her Master had deftly stroked his penis from a soggy cucumber to a full, hard mast – badmouthing all the while those vile nurses who had neglected a patient’s basic needs. And then, no sooner than it’d been prepared, she had drawn her short, red hair behind an ear – wetted her lips with her tongue – and gently introduced them to the head of the man’s now swollen and ready penis. He’d thrown back his head and gasped his shocked pleasure as the Master’s mouth had slid lower and lower down his unattended shaft – until her nose’d been stuffed in his overgrown pubes, and Clownpiece might see his sturdy girth bulging her Master’s throat.

There had been a desperate, sideward glance once her Master had begun hauling her lips back up the man’s length, sucking and giggling; and Clownpiece couldn’t resist the prankster’s call to yank her shirt up and show off the tiny Lampad’s titties that’d driven creatures far mightier than mankind drooling with lust. To her stunned and not a little dejected surprise, he’d given her tiny weapons of mass destruction a blank stare. Then his attention had been hooked again by her Master, who’d caught the mischief in a corner of her eye – let the penis pop out of her mouth – and proceeded to disrobe her own, loose, trademark top. Huge (compared to Clownpiece’s, anyway), round, with perky nipples the colour of ripe cherries and the golden chain hugged between them, the Master’s breasts – which’d stopped not one and not two drunken brawls dead in their punches back in Hell – had been unleashed on the poor, lame human’s eyes. He hadn’t long to be mesmerised. The Master had scarcely given Clownpiece a dirty look when her lips were once more all over the patient’s dick: pecking kisses, sucking and dragging her tongue along its erect length.

He’d been flushed, throbbing, slathered in spit and man-juice by the time Clownpiece’s Master had relented and climbed the bed to kneel astride the man’s waist. She’d smiled an Oni’s smile, pinched the edge of and then lifted her motley skirt. There’d been nothing underneath that skirt but Clownpiece’s Master and her neatly trimmed womanhood. The Lampad hadn’t seen her Master slip her underwear off, but there it’d been: a patch of hair as red as the one atop her head and a set of pristine, pink labia ensconced between a pair of thighs that’d once danced through seven nights straight and never foundered. The Master had snuck her fingers down to her denuded crotch, spreading her plump petals, poised to wrap them around and slide them down the patient’s hard, precum-slick dick. He’d cottoned on quick to the suggestion in her raunchy grin and steadied his flexing manhood for easier insertion.

Slowly, savouring the adultery, Clownpiece’s Master had lowered her hips… and then remembered the still very present and very much gawping Lampad.

“Ah, Clownpiece?” she’d said, all Master-like – as if they’d been back in Hell and she’d been about to knock off an Oni’s horns. “Could you go and… cause a bit of a ruckus outdoors? Master is going to taste this nice gentleman’s cock with her lower mouth now, and she’d ill enjoy one of those baaad nurses interrupting before she’s sampled every inch. Yes? Atta girl.”

Clownpiece had beamed and pumped a fist. “Hell yeah!”

The Lampad hadn’t waited her Master’s moaned “Oh, _yeahhh_ —” (nor the pursuing “Oh _Hades,_ that hits the spot…!”) to storm out and execute the command.

The execution, itself a story for the cups, had seen Clownpiece wreak havoc in the clinic’s surrounds – ultimately to be swarmed by the Sage’s rabbits and brought before her Master’s Friend who, in the purity of her heart, had granted the rampaging Lampad forgiveness… as well as this, her current mission. And so, Clownpiece had quit the Sage’s bamboo forest to roam the humans’ blooming and fruiting farmlands. In no time, she’d spotted her prey – dimmed her wings like the Sage had magnanimously instructed – and hitched herself a covert ride to – and with luck into – the Human Village.

It was the perfect plan. No need for the Three Stumblebums of Light and their fancy-schmancy luminomancy; a pinch of the old Eighth Circle style, and Clownpiece was well underway to her goal. The bumps notwithstanding.

That was a lie. One of them definitely _was_ withstanding and stubbornly rubbing the front of Clownpiece’s heart-print panties. Worse because, in marriage with the thick, brawny arm strapping in her waist and the recentness of her Master’s sexy prank, a slimy stain was slowly darkening the black silk. The Lampad smacked a palm over her mouth, the cart’s turbulence jogging her up and down on the driver’s bulge. That time, she felt it spread her through the thin panties.

“ _Hoof,_ ” chuffed the man over the wheels’ screaking. “This’s rough ridin’. Holding on fine, missy?”

Clownpiece wasn’t. In reality Clownpiece was clutching the man’s knee with but one urgent hand while sliding the other down between her thighs to move the panties out of the way. It wouldn’t do to ruin her Master’s gift; she would sooner condemn the man’s trousers and ride bareback than have to plead with the Master’s Friend to wash her underwear on the quiet. The rough, peasant fabric scratched her bared, wet fairyhood, but no longer than her juices soaking and slickening the bumpy seat. Clownpiece gritted her teeth, squishing her crotch into the protuberance, its peak snagging and rubbing her stiff clitty. The pits in the road turned their coats: swapping out annoyance for poking and grinding the Lampad’s privates on the carter’s bulge. The human, while he may have grunted amusement at her squeaked exclamations, didn’t seem to note at all his clothes growing damp with fairy juice.

Until he did. Startling Clownpiece half to Hell, the man let go of her small, aroused body to dig his long, manly fingers under her leaky privates. Tough and coarse, they knuckled the Lampad’s hairless mons in their questing beneath her wet crotch. That, however, was not their first nor even the intended aim. The man’s until now contained, fully erect cock – was. The driver scooped it out of his trousers: stiff, pungent and veinier than a forearm; without the support of his hand, which was fast returned to Clownpiece’s waist, it leaned back to rest against the Lampad’s tummy. Almost passing her bellybutton, it was even longer and lustier than the patient’s whom her Master had chosen to give the Hellish work-out. Spooning its fat, hairy base, the Lampad’s vagina squeezed in frightened, horny surprise.

The cart shuddered upon another hole in the road; so too did Clownpiece, once the motion mashed her erect clitty into the cock’s rugged shaft. Shock and pleasure at once crushed her thigh-high-wrapped legs close, confining the penis in a snug triangle of silky thighs and bare, fairy pussy. Another series of humps in the rural road, and he would enjoy an unsolicited smooch from the Lampad’s inner lips. This time around, her voice trumped her self-control. A very unhappily happy Clownpiece slumped against the human’s broad, hardened chest, mumbling.

The driver jerked the reins, and the horse clopped to a hesitant stop.

“… So,” he murmured into the Lampad’s blushed ear. “Shall we put it in, missy – for safety, ‘course?”

Clownpiece fumed, glaring at the hard, chubby cock nestled between her thighs. “… That’s not safety,” she huffed. “That’s sex.”

“ _Safety_ sex,” purred the man – insofar as a man may purr. “Safer with it inside you than ridin’ precariously atop. Yeah? Third point o’ support an’ all that tosh.”

Clownpiece squelched her face. He had… _some kind_ of right. Moreover, the Master’s Friend had been unambiguous in her instructions; this was a secret mission for a clever fairy who raised no unneeded fuss. More-moreover, that cock looked something straight out of Hell…

Gulping, the Lampad stood up on the cart’s footrest, soft-kneed from the jostling and unwilling stimulation. Giddier than a village boy glimpsing her titties, she reached between her wobbly thighs while, behind, the spry old driver tucked the back of her top into her shifted panties for, it had to be presumed, a better view of her fairy derriere. A string of thick, gooey love-juice dripped from her crotch when, emulating her Master, Clownpiece stretched out her fairyhood’s sopping entrance. It pattered on the human’s mucky shoes. He pitched in his part, notwithstanding: one paddle hand on the Lampad’s tight butt, the other rolling the foreskin down from his tip and pushing it up to Clownpiece’s volunteered opening.

“There’s a real good girl,” he praised.

Then, tantalising her with the care, his cock a stiff guide, he ushered the little Lampad’s ass back onto his lap.

Straight away, she was grateful to be facing the horse rather than the man; from the moment his glans passed between her slick labia, until it was crammed up to the mouth of her womb, Clownpiece’s belly was taut from excitement. Teeth clinched, eyes rolled up at the sky, the Lampad settled again on her bumpy seat: palms on the man’s knees, butt stuffed into his waist and her trembling pussy transfixed on his hard cock. He’d known just what to do, the old creep; by exposing his gross cock-head, he’d ensured for himself not only a full, unhindered tour of a Lampad’s wet vagina but also that his wide ridge would scrape and rub on all of Clownpiece’s most vulnerable places. The results were explicit: his engorged cock throbbed with vigour under her bellybutton while his shaggy pubes swamped with the Lampad’s gushing fairy-lube. His veiny girth nudged and crowded her G-spot simply by tensing inside her.

In her swooning, blond head, a thought fluttered up above the rest: _Hell yeahhh…_

Mounted up, caught up in the sensation of a hard, human penis deep inside of her, she all but missed the driver’s caution of, “Cosy there, missy? Goin’ on then,” and the smacking of reins on the horse’s rump.

Clownpiece squealed as the cart lurched onward, tiny digits clutching the man’s undone trousers, pussy hugging his already crowded hard-on from peak to base. The first pothole wrenched the cart, sharp as Hell’s own basalt crags. It didn’t bounce her up and down as either she or the driver may have hoped; rather, it jarred her butt atop the man’s lap, stirring her vagina and pushing his stiffness at her sensitive walls at lip-biting angles. A second pit thundered by; this one jolted her forward, halfway off the man’s slippery cock. Clownpiece scrambled to fix it: thrusting her hips, screwing her deprived pussy back down his sloping length, until his glans was once again kissing her cervix. No chance for trickery lost, the clever Lampad slacked her grip on the human’s knees, so that the tragic, sexy accident repeated for sure.

So too it did; and Clownpiece spooked near out of her clothes once the gruff man took it upon himself to slam his cock back up her soaked, quivering fairyhood. The jolt of pleasure from her battered G-spot curled her toes inside her thigh-highs. Too very soon for payback, another ditch in the road shook them on the bench. The driver snapped off an oath, cracking the reins, gasping as his fat tool slipped out first then topped up the Lampad’s unresisting vagina. Clownpiece moaned herself, thighs quaking, every meaty inch come inside of her a duel to the orgasm for her weak spots. Swooning, shunting the Master’s Friend’s mission aside just for now, the most loyal of the Lampads gave herself in to the stiff, human cock raising Hell under her womb.

She climaxed not three minutes later, the steady Kappathon and frantic reinsertions too much for her over-teased, overstuffed pussy.

Sensing her childish body squirm, the driver spread-eagled Clownpiece’s legs – right on cue for a spray of squirt and pee from her flushed, cumming privates. Clownpiece tinkled over the footrest’s edge, warm fairy extract splashing the horse’s hooves, while she twitched and panted and wrung around the cock still buried up to its root in her vagina and impeding her orgasm. Then again, the very idea of him sliding it out of her now vised her dainty hands on the man’s knees. Her feet pointed out, seized by the hitching throes of her orgasm.

 _Mmm, buuut,_ thought Clownpiece, recalling her Master’s keenness to fuck the bedridden local. It really was as she’d said. _Sex with country humans is the bessst…_

“… _Aaah,_ ” wheezed a rustic voice behind her ear. “Y’ fairies always cream youselfs so quick. Cutest thing on this dun earth, it is.”

Had she not been already emptying her bladder, Clownpiece might have now. How in Hell had he…? Were her wings shining? Cumming as she still was from the bumpy sex, it was everything she could do to give him a helpless, sidelong scowl.

“Hhai,” she slurred, “am not a faiwiee… hnnkay?”

The driver sniggered, pulling at her collar for a peek of her amazing, mass-destructive titties. They were plump on ends, swollen up by her palpitating orgasm. “An’ I,” countered the man, ogling her enlarged nipples, “am Kochiya’s Wednesday shag. Naw, missy. Children doesn’t stray so far from town, much less by their lone selves. An’ these togs? Could be you’re a _youkai_ … ‘cept then we drat well wouldn’t be havin’ us this converse. Or, I reckon, y’ could be a nice, cute fairy after some sugar and a free pass into town. Where I’m touchin’, well… tells me a half of that story.”

The Lampad mulled, writhing, feeling the aforesaid touch deep inside where fairies made, if not sugar, then certainly their honey. “… Thennn,” she determined, words tumbling off her tongue, “I am a cute fairee…?”

There was a long chuff of homegrown machismo. It gusted down Clownpiece’s stretched-out collar, tickling her puffy nipples. “Tell you what in that then case, miss fairy,” proposed the carter. “How’s about I smuggle y’ past the gate watch? No dogs sicked, easy as you like. In return… you’ll keep this uncle’s penis from gettin’ lonely the whole ride. Good?”

What could she do? Clownpiece bobbed her fluffy head, finished peeing, shuddered out of the encroaching afterglow and prepared to be the nice, cute fairy who loved nothing more than bouncing up and down and having orgasms atop old men’s laps.

Two. That was how many she managed to have – one from said bouncing, the other from jockeying around and mashing her clitty into the driver’s groin – before he turned her about face and tugged her top over their coupled privates. The town gates were in sight and, advised the driver, if Clownpiece wished in then she would still and “zip up that moaning mouth.” Nettled, Clownpiece nonetheless did as told. A sentry in a buffed leather jerkin waved them to halt with the aid of an amulet-plastered truncheon. He eyed the flushed, sweat-sheened Lampad, but dropped the leer once the driver introduced her as “Sei-chan, my niece.” Something droned from under the sentry’s nose about checking the rear for nasties hitchhiking, and he rounded the cart to prod under the canvas pall.

Which was when, thrilling her neck to toes, the driver leaned in to whisper in her ear.

_“Tighten your cunt an’ don’t make a peep, missy.”_

All the rubbish about smuggling and nieces proved at once paper-thin deceptions. Grasping them by the wobbly hips and drawing them off their hidden erections was not usually something uncles did with their nieces. Nor did then brusquely hilting the same erection back inside a fairy you meant to convey unseen into a town look seriously prudent. Still and all, Clownpiece bottled up her escaping voice as the man slid out then re-sheathed himself up to the swollen testicles inside the Lampad’s clamping pussy. One stroke, two strokes, three… and then, at the strike of the fourth, with an apish grunt, he _came._

In broad daylight, in the middle of a thoroughfare, with her cervix pressed to the old man’s glans, Clownpiece stuck on an innocuous smile. Meanwhile, below, her fairy womb filled up with his virile, human seed. The driver’s cock _pulsed_ like Hell’s geysers, each fervent tremor gushing more hot sperm into the Lampad’s baby-room. Well, not as such. Lampads could not make babies; her Master had taught Clownpiece that… but the thought was a heady one to have while pretending to be inseminated.

“Stowaways absent,” quipped the sentry, shuffling in beside them. “Good to go, sir.”

Clownpiece heard the old man suck in a breath. “… Gracious,” he rasped, vowels like strained gravel. “Good lad, there. _Hrk._ So long.”

“Ha. Too long, sir.”

Croaking non-committally, the driver snapped the reins with one unsteady hand. He was still ejaculating, doing his best to impregnate the little blond fairy, even as the cart trundled off down the street.

Several minutes had to elapse for his overly spry cock to quit throbbing, by which time Clownpiece’s smile felt frayed on her face. And then, above the band of her offensively drenched panties, she could feel the man’s voluminous load ballooning her belly. It wasn’t to stay there long. The driver, having sniffed out her weakness, would propose they scrape it out – using the obvious tool – in the hay loft of the place where he rested his horse. And Clownpiece would mistrustfully agree. There were some crates, to hear him tell it, and so they could try a technique called “missionary style.”

He did, amazingly, manage to scoop out some of the white gunk he’d pumped inside the Lampad’s wet fairyhood… right before stumbling and replenishing it with twice the amount.

Afterwards, a groggy, overfed-feeling Clownpiece left the driver to tend his fatigued beast. The Sun dangled in the cloudless sky outside, a high noon raining Hell on the trodden cobbles below. It had taken a tougher dance, but… she was where she needed to be at last. The mission resumed – side-lined, maybe, but never forgotten. A Lampad’s head was, after all, much roomier than a common fairy’s. Although hers was mostly fuzz right then, Clownpiece skulked the streets of the Human Village, purposeful.

All which she had to figure _now_ was how to get the Master’s Friend the shaved ice she wanted with no money to her name.


End file.
